Paoletta: An Eye for an Eye by J.R. Powell
The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour
Paoletta: An Eye for an Eye by J.R. Powell
Today on the blog I’m pleased to be highlighing Paoletta, an Eye for an Eye, by J. R. Powell, which was published on 28th November 2024.
The author has kindly provided an extract of Chapter 18, which I’m featuring below. But first, the book description!
Exiled to a Caribbean island, Paoletta Cadoville and her family cling to the hope of one day returning to their Parisian home. But in a single, devastating moment, that dream is shattered. Alone and horrifically scarred, Paoletta embarks on a perilous quest to uncover the truth behind her family’s tragic fate, only to become entangled in a web of political intrigue, secret societies, and dangerous alliances.
In a Paris overshadowed by the guillotine, Paoletta must decide how much of her humanity she’s willing to sacrifice in pursuit of vengeance. Will she achieve justice for her family or lose herself to the darkness that threatens to consume her?
Paoletta – An Eye for an Eye is a gripping historical thriller set during the French Revolution and a stark reminder that in times of upheaval, innocence is the first to fall, and revenge demands a price paid in blood.
Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/4XvgEe
Excerpt Number 3 (if you’re following the tour), from Chapter 18
The Théâtre du Peuple was located in the Marais, just a stone’s throw from the river. Lucie led me inside and navigated me through a labyrinth of dimly lit passageways, with whispers and shadows drifting past us. We eventually arrived at a spot behind a big, blood-red curtain. A couple of dozen girls, with their fancy dresses and pale, ghostly faces with wide eyes, stared at me disapprovingly. They clung tightly to their thin threads and seemed to be listening intently to the muffled voices coming from the other side of the curtain.
“Listen, listen, listen,” said Lucie in a low voice. She planted her hands on my shoulders and turned me to face a dark brown smudge in the corner. “There’s some wine on the table for you. And when they call your name, and only when they call your name, you may go through the curtain. Don’t let me down.”
She threw a wry grin at me and disappeared behind the curtain, though I hadn’t forgotten her threat. Pouring myself some wine gave me an excuse to turn my back on the room, although I would’ve preferred brandy. A voice in the darkness summoned the next girl, and I caught a glimpse of the other side. My fingers were cold, and my mouth went dry as it had never gone dry before. The other girls edged forward to listen. I drank the wine quickly. It was just what I needed to bring some colour back to my cheeks and quell the needles dancing in my belly.
Gabriella wasn’t allowed to be nervous; she scoffed at stage fright. My nerves, on the other hand, were far more stubborn. Think of Gruyères, I told myself. From a quiet corner away from the candle’s glow, I gave each one of the girls a good look. Trembling, lip-licking, frowning, nail-biting, handwringing – they were just a handful of sweaty-faced, fidgety girls like me whose theatrical ambitions and dreams had been building to this point. Tough – my need was greater than theirs.
One by one, the girls came and went until, at last, I heard, “Gabriella Lucchesi!” A red-hot poker skewered my belly, though I tried to keep a confident façade. “Come through.”
Crossing the veil, I found myself in total darkness. A smattering of shimmering, gold orbs materialised before me, glowing amidst a cluster of silent, shadowy figures. Although I didn’t see them, I felt their eyes crawling over my skin like swarming ants. Only a few dim candles lit the way to the pair of stocky shoulders sitting in front of me, the glow bouncing off her pink cheeks and a steely pair of sunken eyes staring back. Lucie stepped into view and handed me a piece of parchment.
“When you’re ready,” she said before slipping back into my blind spot.
Immediately, I heard the distant but cruel rustle of whispering. The paper quivered between my sweaty fingers, hopefully not too obvious in the dim light. I read the parchment as best I could, an extract from Rousseau’s The Social Contract, not a text I was familiar with. Lucie’s menacing words at the Café Février were still ringing in my ears. So, clearing my throat, summoning my inner Neapolitan, I began…
“Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains. One thinks himself the master of others, and still remains a greater slave than they. How did this change come about? I do not know. What can make it legitimate? That question I think I can answer. If I took into account only force, and the effects derived from it, I should say, ‘As long as a people are compelled to obey, and obeys, it does well; as soon as it can shake off the yoke, and shakes it off, it does still better; for, regaining its liberty by the same right as took it away, either it is justified in resuming it, or there was no justification for those who took it away.”
The stocky figure in front raised her hand, and I stopped, lowering the parchment to reveal my face again.
“Gabriella, isn’t it?” Her voice was husky and wholesome as if she were speaking directly into my ear. “I like the Latin touch. Fiery, wouldn’t you say?”
Murmurs of agreement rumbled behind her.
“Thank you,” I stuttered.
“I hear you missed me at the Halle aux blés,” she said, a superficial grin etched into her face. “I didn’t realise my audience was so international.”
“I wanted to be inspired,” I said with dry lips, thinking it was something Gabriella might say.
The woman in front of me scoffed with feigned flattery. “I’m sure Marat made up for that.” She looked up at me. “Am I right?”
“Indeed, Citizeness.”
Out of sight, Lucie’s petite footsteps pitter-pattered back on stage, and she took the piece of paper from my grip.
“Citizeness Legrand, Gabriella,” Angélique said with pride in her tone. She nodded to me and turned her gaze back to her list. “It was a pleasure.”
Lucie hooked her arm around mine and led me off the stage as though she had taken me to be completely blind. As the other auditionees departed one by one, a growing unease wrapped around me, body and throat, like a tight shroud. I was now alone in this shadowy space. That was until Lucie returned, her heels thudding across the timbers behind me, and, with bitterly cold fingers, turned my face to hers – she wasn’t done with me yet.
Author Bio
J. R. Powell, Author
Originally from the UK, J.R. Powell lives in Germany, where he works as a translator and editor.
His debut novel was published in 2024, marking the first instalment of a new historical thriller series. Paoletta – an Eye for an Eye follows Paoletta Cadoville, a young woman driven by vengeance after the murder of her family during the French Revolution.
Drawing inspiration from his time living in Paris, Powell immersed himself in the city’s rich and brutal history to craft a story that brings a lesser-explored period to life with the momentum and intensity of a gritty, modern thriller.
Author Links:
Linktree: https://linktr.ee/J.R.Powell
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/author_j.r.powell/
Threads: https://www.threads.com/@author_j.r.powell
Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/author-jrpowell.bsky.social
Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/j-r-powell-d4a62b78-1483-4a63-8c91-eb1852102c55
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/J.R.-Powell/author/B0DNG27M7X
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/53348452.J_R_Powell